


Les Hommes (The Men)

by theothardus



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Arguing, Canon Het Relationship, Discovery, F/M, Post-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theothardus/pseuds/theothardus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of two things could come out of this: a forgiving girlfriend, or a bullet in his side. He didn't even consider the third option.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Hommes (The Men)

**XXX**

 

The longer he stood, the darker the light that seethed through the window above seemed to become.

The longer he stood, the more he second-guessed himself.

_Shit._ Why was he here again?

With each shade of light that was trimmed from the glass pane, his heart distanced itself from its volition. He knew that, right there, that window in which his pupils were pointed, belonged to none other than his subordinate. She was probably asleep by now, judging from the lack of lighting in her apartment. She was probably tucked away in her comfortable, twin-sized bed, as conscious as a resting dog—half-alert, ready to snatch the handgun nudged beneath her pillow if needed.

Roy’s hands were baking in his coat pockets. He was itching to try them out on the wall of the apartment building, plenty of vines and uneven bricks available for climbing. Yes, he tried the door. Didn’t knock, but he tried it. When he realized how late it was (at the time), he decided to head back to his own apartment and try tomorrow… until he looked back from the street he stood on, that is, taking notice of the flickering light that radiated from Captain Hawkeye’s window.

He considered throwing a rock. A small pebble, perhaps. Alas, that is what _kids_ do. Kids like FullMetal or the emperor of Xing.

No. No, what he _really_ should do is be a man, the civil adult that he was, and march back up those three flights of stairs, bang on her door, and demand to speak to her.

That’s what he should do.

His hand latched onto the vine. He was grateful for having steel-toed boots—it lifted the burden of hiking up a four-story building. At first, he was a bit ashamed … after all, this is the kind of stuff that teenage boys do. What if somebody saw him? What if someone from the _military_ saw him? They would make a mockery of him in the newspaper, not to mention at Central HQ. He could just see it. Men taking glances good enough to take a picture, snickering at the man they called superior. “Brigadier General Roy Mustang: panty chaser”. Why in Truth’s name was he doing this again?

Roy sucked in a breath and his pride, reminding himself of his urgent need to see the woman now, not later.

The moment that the tips of his gloved fingers tapped the window’s silver frame, however, his aim was flushed down the sewer. Nervousness crept over him like a caterpillar. He swallowed, larynx throbbing.

As gracefully as he could, he pushed the window open and pulled half of his body into the shadowy depths of the bedroom.

Roy hesitated. He looked back, then peered down. The man was never afraid of heights, and now, he almost welcomed the heights. Was it mad of him to consider jumping out the window while he still had his ego intact?

A breeze brushed against his nostril, drifting around him like a ribbon. He inhaled with the breeze, snapping his eyes shut and open. Here it goes.

Mustang turned his body, not having to lower his feet much in order to place himself on the floor. Luckily it was carpet; that way, his steps could be silent and subtle.

Just as both feet planted onto the ground, however, an ear-ringing _POP_ caused him to jump a mile from the window and squirrel around. Roy knew that sound all too well, especially from years on the battlefield.

He began to hiss, hands covering his head, “What on _Earth—_ “

Before he could even put the pieces together, a lamp clicked on, filling the room with burning light. Riza was beside it, her gun still pointed, finger rested on the trigger.

Roy blinked strenuously, both adjusting to the light and the situation at hand. He attempted to sound calm like typical Mustang would, but uncertainty intervened.

“You almost killed me, Hawkeye.”

She was calmer than he was, but somewhere inside, he could sense anger, resentment, and currently, amusement and contentment with herself. He could have sworn that he caught a smirk tugging at the woman’s lips.

“Not nearly, sir. I didn’t even try to aim,” said she, her words deceiving her tone of voice.

They were still for a few seconds, one waiting for the other to move. Finally, Riza was the first one to do just that. She didn’t inch toward Mustang, though, but toward the wall. She fingered the obvious dent in her wall, repressing a sigh. He thought he heard her mutter something along the lines of: “Gonna have to get that fixed...”

She turned her head to look at him—except, really, it was more than just a look… more like darting his heart out and tearing it to shreds with her auburn spheres.

Riza was always good at masking her emotion.

“What compelled you to climb through my window like a sixteen-year-old boy?” she inquired, practically swimming in her banter. He was damn near roiled, _knowing_ she was mocking him, _knowing_ that her calm and collected tone, not to mention her poker face, only made him feel more uneasy.

When he didn’t answer quick enough, she started to walk toward her nightstand. He couldn’t help but take note of the way her nearly translucent, cherry-blossom colored robe grabbed at her body, hugging and kissing her curves like a desperate lover. Most robes were thick and somewhat conservative, but this one was made of the thinnest  material, dropping down to her mid-calf, but made with a slit in the side to reveal the supple skin of her leg, all the way up to her upper thigh. The robe’s sleeves ended at her elbows, shaped somewhat like a kimono, and while the material was nearly see-through, something white was wrapped around her underneath, so it didn’t expose too much. He’s seen his Lieutenant—or Captain— _nude_ , for Christ’s sake, but somehow this seemed much more provocative. Perhaps because he got the feeling that she was going to hold off on sex with him for a long, long time.

She never _tried_ to be sexy, yet, with the way her hips swayed, she didn’t need to try.

Riza stopped at the nightstand, setting down her gun in a piece of white cloth. Her slender fingers continued to trace, examining the creases and crevices of the hard and shiny weapon.

 “You could have knocked,” she added.

Quickly, he countered, “But you wouldn’t have answered.”

That forced her to glance at him, eyes scanning the man. After an elongated pause, she wrapped the gun in the cloth and walked to the other side of the room.

“Well, you should have called, then,” Riza said, smoothly. She could feel his gaze on her hips.

Roy didn’t move an inch. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he watched as half of Riza disappeared into the dresser.

“I suppose I should have,” he simply replied.

Her arms moved around like a reindeer’s legs, grabbing things from the hangers and setting things down. This continued for a couple seconds more. She didn’t look at him as she spoke, busy with whatever the hell she was doing.

“If all you’re going to do is be short with me, there’s no point in you being here.”

His countenance stayed pacified, eyes reveling in what was almost cockiness. “I would have to disagree.”

She still didn’t make eye contact, flipping around to dart toward the bathroom, about five articles of clothing bundled up in her arms.

On her way to the bathroom, she spoke, “You were always one to disagree, weren’t you.”

Oddly, she didn’t close the bathroom door, maybe due to being so used to being open with the man. On the other hand, he couldn’t see her from the angle that he was at, so there really wasn’t any point to closing the door anyway.

“Go home, Roy,” she raised her voice from the other room; he’s gotten used to her calling him by his first name. It began when they first slept together, and only stopped when they were at work. “It’s far too late, and people will wonder why you’re crawling out of a female officer’s apartment past midnight.”

His expression remained cool and collective with just a hint of narcissism. “That wouldn’t be a problem if we moved in together.”

A pause. Then, a sound of struggle as she pulled something over her body. “You’ve made it pretty clear that isn’t going to happen.”

He was tempted to walk into the bathroom, but refrained from doing so. Instead, he leaned on the bed frame. “What if I changed my mind?”

“Men don’t change their minds that quickly.”

It was then that she strolled out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her chest line, hair pinned up.

“I’m going to take a shower, and if you’re not out of here by the time I’m done, people will wonder why you’re crawling out of an officer’s apartment with a bullet in your side.”

With that, the door slammed shut behind her heels. The sound of a faucet screeching on registered in his ears, as well as the old pipes that rattled within the walls.

A minute passed. Two minutes.

Roy sucked in a breath through his nose, and with vigor, began to undress himself. He could do so with the dexterity of a lifeguard, from his coat, to his dress shirt, to his slacks, to his socks. Everything but his boots were spread out on the bed, and all that was left on his body was his jockeys.

Like a snake he slithered, easing his way through the door, entering a room full of hot condensation. He could barely see Riza’s silhouette through the glass of the shower door. Ruffling a hand through his hair, he mentally prepared himself. Here it goes. Either he would end up with a forgiving girlfriend, or a “bullet in his side”.

He didn’t consider stripping himself of his underwear, in fact. He merely cracked the shower door open, taking in the celestial sight. Her butt was facing him, perfect and round and velvet, her arms raised as her fingers tangled in her hair, soapy suds rising from her scalp.

Roy stepped into the shower, quietly closing the door behind him. His lips parted, but another voice came out instead.

“Do you really want to die tonight, Roy?” Now she sounded irritated. She didn’t turn her body but her head did, butterscotch eyebrows knitting together.

“Ern…” he grounded out, not sure how to respond. She was probably waiting for an apology, and that was what he planned to do in the first place, but his resolve became unclear, now.

His hand clasped onto her tiny wrist.

“Listen,” Roy demanded softly. “We’re wasting our breath fighting. I was being a moron, I’m sorry. C’mere…”

Without her consent, he pulled her into an embrace, soapy suds and all. She tried to push away, but she obviously wasn’t trying that hard, because his hold on her grew only tighter.

For the first time that night, emotion built up in her face. Frustration, mostly. She lifted her head to look him straight in the face, eyes narrowed.

“You really are a moron.”

Their lips crushed together in a mutual kiss, by far unyielding, Roy’s grasp around her entire body causing her shoulders to bunch up. It was like a scene in one of those three-minute, black and white films at the cinema. The ones that they did not grow up with, although their children certainly would.

They breathed through their noses, mouths silent, but deepening the kiss all at the same time. Suds trickled down Riza’s temples, Roy’s hair damp but not quite wet. His lips felt like dried fruit compared to hers.

He broke away a few times and gave her a few quick (but vivacious) pecks before leaning back to take a nice look at the woman. Something was still wrong with her… he didn’t know what.

His voice came out rough and raspy. “Riza—”

Her index finger shot out and covered his lips, puckering her lips in a, “Shhh.”

He paused, then smiled. His palms tentatively rubbed her arms up and down, unwinding from the water that sprayed down his own back. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

“…Only if you don’t go running after I tell you this.”

His eyebrow cocked. He didn’t get a chance to ask what she meant, because her hands were already clasped in his, as if to show him something. Her eyes didn’t leave his once as she led his hand to her abdomen, setting it just above her naval.

He still did not understand. Head quirking to the side, he examined her, as if the answer would be somewhere on her body. He’s examined her body so many times that his presence alone left a scar.

All of a sudden, it clicked.

He was a father.

From the expression on his face, Riza thought he was going to blow a gasket. Hmph, _men._

 

**_Fin_ **

**Author's Note:**

> So Roy is the baby daddy. |D;; (In case you didn't figure that out.) He's gonna be such a sweet papa. ~
> 
> I don't nearly write as much Royai as I should! It's always EdWin, but trust me, I'll make sure to incorporate more variety into my fics. This is my third one for Roy and Riza—my first in well-over a year.


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